


Life's Lover

by Abyssia



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Tender - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssia/pseuds/Abyssia
Summary: Among hauntingly familiar faces at the Day of Devotion festival, Líf and Thrasir consider how they present intertwines with the past, and how deep their bond has become, and how much closer they can become.
Relationships: Líf/Thrasir (Fire Emblem)
Kudos: 25





	Life's Lover

The day of Devotion festival. In all honesty, if it had not been Thrasir herself who had so incessantly dragged him, then he would not have tolerated it for a moment. But certainly, seeing Thrasir already adorned in her white robes had been an incentive in and of itself. Like her usual armour, she seems to have little qualms about exposing her death-drawn legs, the unearthly translucent crimson of her inhuman flesh. But Líf found himself surprisingly more hesitant. Thrasir, however, had anticipated this. Having prepared for him a long veil that secured under his nose and even drapes to cover his chest.

Líf remembers how in his distant brighter youth, he had once relished in festivals such as this. And so of course, his other self still does. Alphonse, the young crown prince, surely exhausting himself with how much merrymaking he partakes in. Líf resolves to remain on the outskirts, Following Thrasir as she all but drags him along. 

While the Veronica that they can see here appears to be at least attempting to enjoy herself, the Veronica that Líf knew often shunned such engagements in her time. And perhaps now, after narrowly avoiding a grisly fate, she is seeking to make up for lost time.

“Come on,” Thrasir whispers as she tugs on his hand. She turns and peers up at him through her own translucent veil. “Honestly, if do not want to actually be here, then—“

“I wish to remain by your side,” Líf replies, cutting off Thrasir’s words. She presses her lips together and Líf swears he could just barely glimpse a blush across her cheeks. 

“Fine. Well, obviously I want you here,” she squeezes his hand. 

“Is it really necessary that we be near so many of the other...people...?” He whispers in a low tone meant for only her to hear. 

“I mean it is a party, there’s going to be people everywhere.”

He grits his teeth under the veil. Not really wanting to make an issue of this. And in truth, it’s not the crowd that bothers him, but the people in said crowd. However, it is clear to Líf now that Thrasir clearly moves with some sort of purpose in mind. 

She leads him to where a crowd of young Askrian and Emblian soldiers alike mingle in a flower dance. Oh how this would have seemed completely impossible to him merely ten years ago. But now it feels as natural as anything else. Why would anyone allow petty borders to divide them in the face of such world-ending threats as they have all faced. 

Thrasir’s gaze lingers briefly on the crowd but eventually falls beyond the dance floor to where an imperial regiment stands at attention. Princess Veronica, in her place of honour in this good will celebration— she watches the crowd with an expression that once would have been unreadable to Líf. But now he can see how her child-like desire to frolic, clashes against her self-conscious internalised image of a stern princess. Thrasir lets out an annoyed scoff as if she too had been considering the same things. 

At that moment however, Thrasir releases his hand, a movement that gives Líf a brief moment of panic before he feels her touch again. She loops her arm around his waist and those sudden thoughts subside. Has her touch always been this warm? Surely not. The years in Hel’s grasp had been nothing but the grip of icy death. But when among the world of the living, Líf can feel her warmth so clearly that it nearly burns. 

At that moment, Thrasir’s body presses into him from the side. She leans her head on Líf’s shoulder and lets out a sigh. 

It is not like her to be so flagrant in public, although he isn’t about to complain. It has been a long time since either of them had even been among the living—had even been among those whose eyes might pry into their intimacy. The bond that they share had always only been the two of them—without any regard for who might disapprove or judge. And so the sudden gesture of public affection does cause Líf a small shock. If only that he hadn’t been forced to consider these things much before. But Thrasir on the other hand, clearly already has, given the clear purpose in her bringing him here today. 

As Thrasir pulls even closer, Líf’s eyes flash to the younger Veronica where she sits. Her body still faces the festivities, but her eyes now seek to all but bore a hole through the back of Thrasir’s head. So that was her plan. 

Líf puts his own arm around Thrasir’s waist, resting his gloved hand on the exposed section of crimson flesh above her right hip. And while Thrasir begins to nuzzle into his neck, Líf’s eyes scan the crowd again. 

At the opposite end of the dance floor, Alphonse stands in the crowd, at least attempting to be more discreet than Veronica. Thrasir clearly gets some kind of satisfaction from her younger self’s discomfort, but Líf feels nothing but a sudden flash of disquiet deep inside him. He looks away and focuses instead on Thrasir, drawing his fingertips up and down her smooth skin in an almost ritualistic motion. She seems pleased by this and that’s all that he cares about. 

Eventually however, Líf spots a small commotion back on the far end of the dance floor. Princess Veronica has stood up from her chair and is now stomping down from the platform much to the surprise of her attending guards. 

Líf smirks under his veil. 

“Thrasir,” he whispers. “It appears that her imperial highness has grown tired of your indiscretion.”

Thrasir groans and pulls back. “Seriously? Is she leaving already?” She turns around and gets her answer by way of the sight of Veronica’s empty seat. Thrasir scoffs and lets her arm drop back to her side. 

Líf however, perhaps actually having become involved in the affection, or for some other reason, fails to let go right away. Thrasir, of course notices this.

She now looks to the opposite end of the dance floor, where the young Alphonse is now staring at them in turn. Thrasir meets his gaze, and Alphonse's eyes quickly widen before quickly averting. Thrasir can't see why he would bother to pretend like he wasn't staring. No one would blame him for being curious about his older self, and perhaps wondering at his own future romantic prospects. Which seems clear with how he glances over to where Veronica once stood.

Líf's grip on her had shifted from affectionate to something more desperate, and Thrasir finds no further reason to remain her. She has had her fun, and now she must see to her partner's clear discomfort, as she knows that he will show no such concern for himself.

"Let's get out of here," Thrasir says softly, prying his hand from her skin and leading him away again. Líf has no complaints, especially considering his only reason for being here was at Thrasir's behest. But now, she senses something else. Líf had been rather at ease for this whole engagement. Sure he was clearly irritated by the crowds and noise, but he didn't show any actual signs of distress, until just now. Until just after Veronica stormed away.

“You are troubled,” Thrasir states once they are away from prying ears, already heading in the direction of their shared tent. 

Líf lets out a huff. “I trust you were able to enjoy yourself to your satisfaction?”

Thrasir rolls her eyes. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

Líf bites his lower lip. “I suppose you found some form of entertainment in watching Veronica squirm at the sight of us?”

“Of course,” she shrugs with a small grin. “I was so ridiculous back then, so self-important. I had no real knowledge of love back then.”

Líf pauses before replying. “Surely there was love between you and your brother, even then?”

She laughs. “At that stubborn age, I am certain that instead you and Zacharias had a stronger bond than he and I.” Even as she tries to laugh it off, the taste is bitter in her tongue. Even now, in this world, her brother, as well as Xander to whom she had been so attached are constantly away. And every time, it felt like being abandoned. How foolish young veronica is. She knows nothing of being truly alone. 

Líf squeezes her hand, remaining silent for a long moment as they continue to walk. 

“Thrasir,” Líf begins finally. “Similarly, I found the behaviour of my other self to be...unsettling.”

“Why, what did the kid do?” She asks, that familiar flash of protective rage flaring in her eyes for but a moment. 

“I suppose he didn’t do anything....” he grumbles. “I simply... I do not wish to think upon it--on his future. He may have everything that I once lost, but he is also missing one thing,” Líf squeezes Thrasir’s hand again. 

It’s a torturous, useless thought, but it lingers in his mind nonetheless. Did he only fall for Thrasir because she was the only one left? Would his heart have been so thoroughly captured by her if they had found another way to defeat Hel? Why does it matter...why does seeing the way that Alphonse and Veronica regard eachother with such empty distance torture him so? So what if they were never fated to be together. If he believed that fate had drawn him to Thrasir, then he would have to believe that Sharena, Kiran, and everyone else had been fated to die. But in this moment, he honestly feels like he wouldn’t trade her for anything. 

“I hate to dwell upon it. A future where you and I remain as enemies, where I am still blind to the folly of my naïveté. Where I am without you,” his voice falls to that almost of a low growl. Thrasir suddenly glances away, directing her gaze to where their small secluded tent is coming into view. “And perhaps I also hate, that given the chance to save our world, if it meant losing you—“ before he can finish, Líf finds himself being jerked downward by the collar, his veil being pushed aside before searing hot lips meet his own. 

"Let's just forget them, alright?" Thrasir threads both hands through Líf’s hair and drags him back into a kiss which he shows no signs of resisting. 

While Líf might resent the crowds, he always relishes any time spent with her. Especially now that the warmth of the mortal world fills their very physical closeness with sensations once thought to be eternally lost to them. 

Thrasir pulls him into the tent, having sensed above all else how he clearly craved her closeness. And just as she knows how to read the subtle fall of his countenance whenever he is troubled, she also knows that he will not express his desire for her directly. 

And so Thrasir pushes his jacket apart, revealing his unearthly blue shoulders. He lets the garment fall to the floor and closes his eyes, seeming to quite enjoy the sensation of even her gloved hands on his bare skin. She reaches up and tugs on the veil again and she sees Líf tense. 

“You want to keep it on?”

Líf shakes his head, placing his still-gloved hands on her upper arms. “I simply am not quite used to it. How...warm you feel now.”

Thrasir glances down, tracing her fingers along the straps of the veil to unhook it from behind his ears. 

Perhaps it is the warmth of the mortal world, perhaps it is simply a symptom of being able to pause and take the time to really...be with one another. But regardless, the enjoyment to be found in the simple joys of the other’s company far out strips any other thrill. 

Thrasir rubs her fingertips over his cheek and jaw, tracing the line where his still-human flesh faded into the translucent blue. His teeth are visible through the skin and she can see his tongue move as he tenses along with her touch.

“Come on,” she nudges. “Don’t make me do all the work,”

Lin’s hands then suddenly jerk into action and he takes a hold of her own collar almost clumsily. Thrasir grins, but is patient with him. She traces her hands down his neck and she opens the collar of his gown. Before she can get too carried away however, she lifts her arms to allow Líf to remove her jacket in return.

Thrasir then suddenly guides his hand between her legs, and now he sees the reason for her slightly more conservative form of dress. Instead of just a smooth sexless mound, Líf feels something much warmer and already dripping with desire. 

Thrasir rolls her eyes at his hesitancy and drags him over to their joined bedrolls near the far wall of the tent. 

Thrasir decides to take a different approach. Finally losing a bit of her patience, Thrasir pushes him to the floor and promptly sits on his lap. There, she pins his arms to his sides with her legs and reaches down. She undoes her belts and discards her gown, not wasting a moment to do the same to Líf. Clearly content to let her take the lead, Líf watches her intently, his lips falling open as his breathing starts to deepen. 

His eyes fall obviously to her breasts, which causes her to smirk. She places her gloved hands to her own chest and squeezes, dragging her hands down her chest to rest on her thighs. 

Thrasir’s eyes fall downwards again and she rests her hands on his chest finally. Líf takes in a sharp gasp, as she digs her gloved fingers into his skin. 

She however quickly lifts one hand to Líf’s mouth, and he gazes at it ponderously for a moment. 

“Help me get my gloves off,” she commands. 

Líf moves his head forward and carefully latches his teeth around the pointer tip of the glove and begins to tug. Meanwhile Thrasir carefully settles further into his lap, pressing their still-clothed pelvises close together. 

Líf’s other hand goes to remove her other glove while tossing her first glove away. Without hesitation he pulls her fingers to his lips, clearly wanting to feel her bare skin again. 

Líf’s skin feels hot to the touch, and even starts to glow brighter where their skin meets. He holds her hand to his cheek, his eyes falling closed for a moment. 

Thrasir strokes his cheek softly, a chaste, affectionate gesture that is however accompanied by the unconscious movement of her hips against his. Líf lets out a low hum and loops one arm around her lower back. 

Thasir then spreads both hands over his collarbone, watching with fascination as the glow starts to flicker and even shift in hue. Oh, that’s right. A human body becomes flush and pink with arousal. How curious how even in the absence of flowing blood of the living, Líf’s body still reacts like this. It is as though the very essence of his being is flaring in response to her. 

Thrasir traces both hands down each of his arms, watching the soft lavender flow follow and fade from the trail of her fingertips. But she doesn’t have far to go before she meets the fabric of his long gloves. One by one, she slides her fingers under the hem and slowly peels the gloves free before discarding them. 

“Alright then, what are you waiting for?” Thrasir begins. “Touch me.”

Líf almost hesitates, but he seems more unwilling to resist a command from her. His hands finally move to her breasts, a direct approach that Thrasir clearly appreciates. His human-appearing skin is a little colder and clammier than the exposed magic of the rest of his body, but the sensations still fill her with an unmistakable spark of heat. She moans and clamps her legs tightly around his hips and grinds down hard. Already, she can feel how her cum has soaked the front of his pants, and the wet sounds just makes her hunger grow. 

Thrasir finally leans forward and crushes their chests together, she digs her fingers into his shoulder blades as she takes in the new sensations. 

Líf’s grip on her is far more gentle, he embraces her and presses his face against the crook of her neck, by now finding it in him to jerk his hips back up in response. 

Thrasir lets out a grunt. She wants to moan his name, but finds herself lost. They so often called each other by their old names when it was just them commanding the legions of hell. But those names have become fraught as of late. 

“Líf,” she breathes into his ear and she feels him shudder. 

“Thrasir,” he moans in reply. Even if these names were chosen from their ancestors, these were names that they chose. Names that now belong only to them and no one else. 

Perhaps the tender intimacy of it all has become too much for her, because Thrasir soon slows her thrusts, pulling back to stroke his hair. “Now let's finish getting the rest of these clothes off.”

Líf nods, and in a surprising show of assertiveness, slides his hands down her thighs to rest on the hem of her boots.

Thrasir gives a satisfied sound at the touch, and Líf even glances down, noticing a similar coloured flush arising from her crimson flesh at her fingertips. But thrasir doesn’t give him a moment longer to observe her.

“Don’t be inpatient,” she chides, placing both hands on his chest and pushing him back towards the floor. “Just let me finish undressing myself first.” Thrasir climbs on top of him, crouching like a beast upon her prey. She gives him a grin, moving her body taunting close to his again before pulling back. “Now just wait there. Don’t move until I say so.” She pauses for his answer and he nods in assent. Thrasir smiles and gets to her feet, standing so that her glistening arousal hangs above his face in full view.

“Look as much as you like, my gift to you,” she says while placing her left foot on his chest. Líf grunts, feeling the pointed heel of her boot bite into his chest. Another deep pink glow blossoms on his skin. And looking lower, she sees how something like a current passes through his abdomen. Thrasir however does have a goal, and so makes sure to start peeling off her boot, even as she too is captivated by his reactions. 

She takes the boot off finally, exposing a similarly fleshy foot. The state of their bodies hadn’t been immediate, it had been years spent in the realm of the dead which had stripped away their mortal tones. But along with their changing bodies from the influence of the realm of life, perhaps, some of the skin is starting to return as well. 

She then moves her foot close to his face with a pointed motion towards his lips. Líf doesn’t need a further command, he lifts his hands to carefully hold and support her foot while he kisses the smoother surface. He presses his lips to the pad of her big toe and to the arch of her foot. Surprisingly, he seems to be quite amenable to it, which she decides to note for later. But honestly at the moment, she really just wants to get the rest of their clothes off and get on with things.

“Very good,” she makes sure to give her approval. Knowing that despite how stern and taciturn he has become, he is still the Alphonse whose whole heart would shatter should he hurt her in the slightest. 

Thrasir slams her now bare foot next to his head, watching his eyes flash wide for a moment before she starts to remove her other boot. She does so quickly, but does not give him the privilege to kiss her foot again. Instead she turns around and gets to her knees.

“Now to get these pants off,” she mutters, focusing her gaze on his crotch. He is wearing purple silken leggings under his thigh-high boots, and she can see a deep stain from her cum sinking into the fabric, no doubt also mingled with his own precum as it leaks.

“You can touch me, I just figured that sitting on your face might be going a bit too fast for you,” Thrasir suddenly feels Líf’s hands grip around her thighs.

“I can take it.”

Thrasir shudders. “Alright, go ahead. Just try not to be so terrible that it pisses me off.” That might have been a mistake because he now seems to hesitate. 

With a slight scoff, Thrasir lowers her cunt to his waiting lips, his slightly surprised sounds quickly muffled by her folds. “You know that if you want to get me off, you need to at least move your tongue,” she states, only now realising just how inexperienced he must be. But quickly it seems like he was simply momentarily stunned as she quickly feels his long tongue lap out in search of her clit. She moans, and sets to work quickly, lifting his legs one by one to peel off his boots, running her hands down from his calf to his thigh, taking note of what gets a reaction. Her fingers then dig into the waistband of his leggings, pushing them down with an eager motion. She licks her lips, watching his cock spring free from his pants. Smooth and hard, but clearly aching for her. Thrasir pulls off his leggings, leaving them both now totally bare. She grinds back against his face momentarily distracted herself, reaching out to wrap her hand around his alluring shaft.

Líf’’swhole body stiffens and he suddenly pushes her hips away from his face. “Wait, stop—”

Thrasir freezes, surprised and rather alarmed to hear such an exclamation from him. She releases him immediately and pulls herself off of him, turning around so that they are facing each other. By observation, Líf is completely flush, his body now a swirling torrent pink and azure. “Líf, what’s wrong?” She asks. Irritated at herself for her impatience and not at all at Líf. She knows who he is, she has always known. He is always going to be that gentle, caring, straightforward boy that had so infuriated her when they were enemies. And now, in stark contrast to her stubborn indifference towards him then, she would rather die than ever hurt him.

Líf takes a few moments to steady his breath and glances away. “Sorry.”

Thrasir holds back a scoff. “Don’t apologise, just tell me what’s wrong, or what I should do.”

Líf looks back at her, his eyes somewhere between pleading and baleful.

“I was just...surprised.”

“I went too fast, it was my mistake,” she relents, sitting down next to him.

Líf props himself up with one arm and meets her gaze. “I still want to continue,” 

“So do I,” Thrasir replies, needing to glance away at the sudden intensity of his gaze. His desire for her is obvious, but that doesn’t erase whatever else might be holding him back. Lack of experience, regrets from his human life, some sort of misguided sense of chivalry—whatever it is, she can’t just barrel through it and she knows that. So instead she watches his body for the familiar signs and lets him show her the path.

He reaches out one hand to rest on her upper arm and he strokes her skin there. She leans forward on her knees and braces herself against his shoulder, taking in a deep breath. He then slides his hand down the length of her arm, and slowly guides her hand between his legs.

Now she understands. This way, she can see how his breath catches in his throat, the movements of his invisible lungs causing his ribs to stretch and then pause along with his sealed lips. The anticipation causes him to tremor, even as he has no need for air any longer, she can still take his breath away.

Thrasir gently wraps her fingers around the shaft and settles in, sitting next to him, hip-to-hip with one arm slung along his lower back. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his face against the top of her head. Perhaps this is why he hesitated earlier, unable to see her face or her reactions, how could he know if she was satisfied.

Líf wraps his arm around her waist in return, fingers digging into her hip. The pleasure was mounting, almost overwhelming. Her seemingly placid expression instead betrays complete concentration, dedication to making him feel as good as possible. Somehow that very idea is tantalising to him. To be the focus of such fierce drive and passion, that in and of itself feels almost like an honour. 

He braces himself against her, placing a hand on her chest as he feels the intensity building faster and hotter. 

“Líf...” she whispers again in such a way that he feels close to losing himself. 

“Thrasir—“ he grits his teeth, as her hand moves faster and faster he feels the last of his stoic façade melt away. “Ahn— Ahh—!!” His voice peaks in pitch, far higher than she’s heard in years. The sound is incredible to hear, especially knowing that she herself is the only one who can make him this way. There is no one else to whom he would dare show such vulnerability, whom he trusts so much—

Maybe it’s a little selfish, even cruel to enjoy this so much, knowing all that he has lost, but she does. She loves that he is all hers, perhaps because in return, Líf is also all she has. 

Líf’s cries eventually fade into soft whimpers as he rides out the orgasm into her hand. His eyes remain close and he leans into her even closer. His arms wrap around her, their bodies falling together in a heap on their bedroll. He nuzzled her, clinging and pressing into her with such earnest affection that Thrasir lets out a bright melodic laugh. 

“Líf—?!”

“Thrasir...” while they are in the mortal world, they are still not bound by mortal flesh. Líf does not feel his strength leave him after release, but instead he is deeply invigorated. He feels full to bursting with how precious this feeling is, how dear this person is to him. He clings to her, half lying on top of her while partially rolling only his side. He traces a hand down her chest and stomach, relishing in her gasps while pressing kisses against the hollow of her neck. “Now I must return the favour. Tell me what I must do.”

She laughs again. “You needn’t be so solemn. It’s not like we have death to worry about you can take your time.”

She’s right, but he can’t help but feel this urgency at the current imbalance. His once overwhelming sense of justice seems to still compel him here to want to return what has been done for him. He plunges his fingers between her legs, almost too eagerly but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

She is beyond fully aroused, completely loose and sopping wet that his fingers might slide out if he isn’t careful. He rubs her clit with his thumb and he feels her whole body tremble. “Aaah—!” She breathes heavily, clinging to his neck while thrusting back wildly against his hand. “Uhg—just, fuck me already!!” She grumbles. “I feel like I’m going to go crazy. I want you—“

Líf shudders at this suggestion and responds by working his hand faster. 

“Let me first bring you to release, Thrasir. Please—“

It’s not like Thrasir has any reason to refuse him, especially not now when he begs her so directly—and when his fingers feel so amazing—

“Líf!” She wails, finally finding her peak as clings to him even harder and bites down into the flesh of his neck to keep from screaming. Líf grunts in surprise but finds that doesn’t hate the feeling of her teeth digging into his skin. It is as if any sensation given to him by her is a welcome one. 

Like Líf, Thrasir seems only more energised by her release and so promptly hooks a leg around his hip to draw him closer. She doesn’t say anything before pulling him into a kiss, laying him down on his side and rolling to fully face him. She reaches down a hand to grab his cock, finding it still hard and ready. With a moment of solemn eye contact, she slides the length inside, letting out a moan once he’s fully sheathed. 

Líf lets out a strained sort of groan, burying his face in her neck and clinging as tight as he can.  It’s like their separate bodies melt away and there is only one joined form between them. The sounds of their moans and their breathing tangle together just as their bodies do. 

When she feels herself approaching another climax, Thrasir suddenly grabs his shoulders and pushes Líf flat onto his back again. He grunts but doesn’t resist, only grabbing her thighs to secure her in place atop him. She takes him in and out of herself greedily, leaning forward to brace herself on his chest. 

Looking down, Thrasir can see how her own body has become fluorescent just as his. Flashes of bright green flit about her body and swirl in her abdomen. But most intoxicating is seeing his bright blue length through her translucent abdomen. It sets off something primal in her, the urge to be filled, feel him penetrate her very core. And Líf too seems to be entranced by this with how his gaze lingers on her body.

Líf lets his head fall back, giving into the pleasure. Something he had thought would always be lost to him, but now burns hotter and closer than ever. While words of love might continue to be far from his lips—after everything he has already suffered and lost, her name will always be there in its place. 

“Thrasir—!” He groans through gritted teeth. 

“Come on, don’t hold back on me now,” she gasps. “You sounded so adorable earlier.”

This clearly flustered him and causes his composure to break. His hips jerk uncontrollably into her, and Thrasir answers him in kind by clenching down around him. She cums a second time, even more spectacularly this time. Líf follows her soon after, reduced this time to a quivering mess, still clinging to her legs. 

Perhaps they could continue like this indefinitely, these undead forms know no fatigue, but their hearts are full, and now call for a different form of expressed love. 

Thrasir pulls herself off of him and immediately curls up next to him. She grabs his large fur mantle and another blanket to drape over them both, pulling up close under the covers. 

Líf gives a sudden shudder and moves immediately towards her touch. 

Their heavy breathing slows and they entwine their hands. It is in these moments when their deep understanding of one another is truly displayed. It is their connection—their bond which sets them apart. From the others—from their past selves, from whatever other worlds where reflections of them might live. This bond which was picking up the pieces of a broken world, chasing after ghosts and instead finding one another.


End file.
